


Hyacinth

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence, demon fic, dubcon, incubus, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan’s no stranger to lust. He knows how it worms its way into you and eats away at your flesh from the inside out; how it makes you burn and writhe when you’re alone at night. All too aware, he is, of how every once in a while you can be especially unlucky, and have that wriggling fire root itself in your heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hyacinth

Dan’s no stranger to lust. He knows how it worms its way into you and eats away at your flesh from the inside out; how it makes you burn and writhe when you’re alone at night. All too aware, he is, of how every once in a while you can be especially unlucky, and have that wriggling fire root itself in your heart. Dan hasn’t felt an ache this strong in centuries. It’s the devastating kind of lust that makes your fingers itch and your mouth water, and he would rather walk on coals for the rest of his damned eternity than have his mind polluted like this. 

Whenever he’s around Arin his mind swims with thoughts of what his entire cursed biology craves: ghosts of fingertips and tongues and breathy moans. It’s a living hell, but it’s sufferable, containable. It’s his own cross to bear until their hotel reservation is cut one room short, until Arin flippantly offers to share the king bed they’ve been offered as compensation. He can’t back out of it, can’t refuse the offer and so here he sits, blood thundering through his veins and muscles twitching violently as he watches Arin’s peaceful form rise and fall with the pattern of his breaths. Every hellish instinct he’s worked all these years to suppress is rising up like bile and infecting every last corner of his rational mind. His sanity is slipping perilously and he can feel that urge to mate, to claim, to _fuck_ returning more powerfully than ever before. With every soft exhale of his sleeping friend, his own breathing becomes labored and heavy with sin. His entire existence is hardwired to take a sleeping form and violate it, and he spent too many years in his youth doing just that. He can’t do that to Arin, he can’t fucking hurt him like that. He can’t and the thought of making his friend feel any less than sublime makes him sick to his stomach, but his flesh burns for touch and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it. 

Dan’s clawing at the sheets and gritting his teeth when he feels Arin roll over, eyes half-lidded. It’s a short-lived relief to see that he’s no longer prone in slumber, but Arin’s known him long enough, and can tell when he’s in distress. He knows the younger man means nothing but to soothe him, but when Dan feels a warm hand graze his thigh, he’s lost. His vision bleeds red and he lets out a roar he hasn’t heard himself emit in years before he succumbs to the waves and finally lets himself drown. 

Dan knows he’s probably leaving angry red gashes all down Arin’s back, but he can’t help himself. He takes and tastes and growls into Arin’s mouth as he feels hands clutch his shoulders in what could be either ecstasy or panic, but he can’t pull together the shattered fragments of his mind long enough to figure out which. His hips are doing some feral dance against his victim’s, and the harder he gets the darker his mind becomes. He’s consumed with this infernal game. There’s not a single coherent thought left in his brain other than broken phrases stolen from sin-soaked poetry. 

Arin’s muscles tense under him, and they’re both sweating and breathing hoarsely in the darkness as they move. The church would have them condemned for this. As Dan finally shudders and grunts through his release, he sinks his extended teeth into the meat of Arin’s shoulder, and lets blood stain the sheets already soiled by sweat and cum, a final act of his possession. 

As his mind clears, he clings to Arin’s form like driftwood, and hopes he hasn’t been hurt too badly. He tenderly kisses the marks peppering Arin’s bruised skin in some feeble act of repentance. Arin strokes his hair with more gentleness and care than he’s ever deserved, and it makes his heart ache. He never got a single word of consent, and yet he stole what he had no right to have. Dan hopes that Arin will leave him, he wishes that he would shove him away and kick and scream and yell, but he knows he won’t. Arin would never hurt him, and it makes Dan want to bawl. 

Arin starts to whisper calming words into his ear, and Dan’s shoulders heave silently. Old tales of heartbroken couples torn apart by one too many meetings flood Dan’s mind, and he knows that he can’t afford to do this another time. Demons and humans were never meant to mix. If this happens again, Arin will be just as damned as Dan is. 

In the morning, he leaves. He doesn’t leave a note or an address, just a hefty tip for the hotel staff. Leaving Arin breaks whatever heart he had left. He kneels to kiss his forehead, some sign of goodbye, or a promise, perhaps. Before his lips graze Arin’s skin, he remembers that some unlucky people die after just two meetings with an Incubus, and reels back. As he shuts the door, he prays Arin won’t try to follow him.


End file.
